


Wet

by bauble



Series: Amuse-Bouche [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Eames gets used to communicating with Arthur during sex.





	Wet

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Arthur rimming Eames](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/312453) by Skipping_Pledge. 



Bloody English weather. Eames doesn't know why he expected it to cooperate in the five meter distance between the car and building door, but he did, and it found new ways to disappoint him.

It was as if the sky opened up to dump all of its water upon him at once, soaking through coat, jumper, and trousers. His shoes squeak as he enters Arthur's flat, socks squelching unpleasantly when he closes the door.

The flat is empty, Arthur having been delayed at work. Eames peels off his dripping coat and hangs it on the rack. A puddle forms rapidly underneath.

After a moment of contemplation, he strips out of the rest of his sodden garments, setting them out across various surfaces. He debates leaving his pants on, but the unpleasant wet cling convinces him otherwise.

He heads into the loo for a quick shower, idly fantasizing about Arthur joining him. They haven't done that yet. The last few times they slept together Eames came a bit too quickly—though Arthur was gracious about it, of course. Wanking now will take the edge off and allow him to last longer tonight. Probably.

After he's done cleaning up, Eames retrieves a towel, dries himself leisurely. Arthur said he wouldn't likely return for another hour, leaving plenty of time for Eames to compose himself in the meanwhile.

Eames leaves the wet towel in the bathroom and wanders back out into Arthur's tidy kitchen. He flips on the electric kettle. He's fishing through cabinets for suitable tea when the sound of the door lock turning catches his attention. The door opens and Arthur appears, still clad in his conservative work-wear. Perfectly dry, of course.

"Darling, you're home," Eames tosses over his shoulder as he lowers a tin of Earl Grey from the shelf. 

"Eames." Arthur's gaze wanders over Eames' naked body. "Hi, I—got out earlier than expected."

"Did you have a good day?"

"Hm?" Arthur answers vaguely, lips slightly parted.

Eames sets the tea down and turns, smiling. "I said: did you have a good day?"

"Yeah, yeah, it was…" Arthur takes a few steps towards the kitchen, loosening the tie around his neck. "Why, uh, why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

"They're wet." Eames leans back against the counter, allowing his back to arch slightly, chest pushing out. He's been rehearsing for an upcoming show, which has had a pronounced effect on his physique. He hopes Arthur notices. "I got caught in the rain."

"Right." Arthur finishes removing his tie, allows it to drop to the floor. "Let them dry off."

"I was going to make a cup of tea. Would you fancy one as well?" Eames asks, enjoying the heat in Arthur's expression, his purposeful stride.

"I can think of a few things I'd like in my mouth over tea," Arthur murmurs as he boxes Eames in, nuzzles Eames' jaw. "You smell like my bodywash. Did you shower here?"

"Just washed up," Eames confirms, tipping his head back to allow Arthur better access. "Fresh and clean."

Arthur exhales a shuddering breath behind Eames' ear. He's standing as close as is possible to stand without touching, his waistcoat brushing against Eames' bare skin. "Do you remember what I told you the first time I sucked you off?"

Eames' heart rate spikes. "Remind me."

"I said that the next time we do this, I'm going to eat you out for hours." 

"Yes, I remember now," Eames whispers, feeling a little lightheaded.

Arthur takes Eames by the hand and leads him into the bedroom. Arthur doesn't bother to disrobe as he climbs onto the mattress, merely beckons Eames over to stand between his legs.

Eames kisses Arthur eagerly, messily. A part of him still can't quite grasp that this is real, that after yearning for so long, Arthur's finally here, with him. Whenever Arthur directs his intense focus or a dimpled smile at Eames, it feels like a minor miracle, a breathless thrill.

"Can I make you come from this?" Arthur asks in between kisses, fingertips stroking against Eames' hole

"I don't know," Eames says, a little bashful. "It's been years since anyone cared to try."

"Well, we're going to find out," Arthur says, scooting back on the bed to lay flat. "Now come up here and sit on my face."

Eames straddles Arthur and obeys. He sits gingerly, wary when Arthur grabs him by the hips and pulls down. Eames startles at the experience of a nose on his perineum, warm breath against the underside of his balls.

It feels—odd. Various partners have done this before, briefly, and Eames enjoyed it. Enjoys it. But it's not quite—he feels that perhaps he ought to enjoy it more, based on Arthur's great enthusiasm. Darling, sexy, gorgeous, Arthur. Eames has never met anyone else so shamelessly oral, so singularly thrilled when licking every inch of Eames' body, shameless and unreservedly wanting. 

Arthur moans underneath him, lavishing Eames' arse with attention while a muscle twinges in Eames' left leg. Despite Arthur's exhortations to sit, Eames is careful not to rest his entire weight on Arthur's face; the resultant half-kneeling pose isn't precisely comfortable. He wonders how long he shall have to continue hovering. Arthur shows no sign of tiring.

Eames tries to relax–-as much as he can in this position, anyway. He wonders if he should make more noise or say something to express pleasure. He tests a small moan, which Arthur seems to like, hands stroking up Eames' thighs encouragingly, but it doesn't feel quite genuine.

Which makes him feel like a right ungrateful git. There's a beautiful man underneath him and Eames can't muster a convincing moan?

Eames shifts minutely, trying not to dislodge Arthur's tongue. His thighs are beginning to ache and Eames realizes with horror that his erection is flagging.

Eames gives his cock a few pulls. It continues to deflate.

His dismay must be noticeable. Arthur stops what he's doing to say, in a somewhat muffled voice, "Eames?"

"That was amazing, darling, you're incredible at that," Eames says, working his own cock with increasing roughness. "Please continue or—or we could switch."

"Baby." Arthur gently pushes Eames off and sits up, sounding concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Eames twists his torso awkwardly, contorting to hide his flaccid dick from Arthur's line of vision. "You've been wonderful. Please allow me to return the favor."

"Hey." Arthur's hand prevents Eames from ducking down to paw at Arthur's trousers the way he desperately wants to. "There's no rush. Will you—can we talk?"

"Talk?" Eames echoes, a wave of anxiety breaking over him. "You want to talk—now?"

"If you don't enjoy something, we don't have to do it." Arthur reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand and takes a deep drink. "You know that, right?"

"I want to." Eames has to force the words out. If only he could be blowing Arthur at this instant, or fucking him; virtually anything else is preferable to—this. Talking in the middle of--sex. "I know you like it."

"But you don't." Arthur takes Eames' hand in his, calm and patient.

"I—" Eames wants terribly to lie. He sighs. "I don't dislike it. But for perhaps only a finite amount of time."

"Okay." Arthur kisses Eames' knuckles. "Maybe we'll save rimming for special occasions only, then, okay? After I've sucked you or fingered you or otherwise made you come already."

"I suppose that might be best." Eames can feel himself flushing. "You're not disappointed?"

"Why would I be disappointed?" Arthur seems genuinely puzzled. "I ate you out and I loved it."

"I know, but did you want me to—weren't you hoping I'd come?"

"That would have been flattering, but I've never come from being rimmed, either." Arthur shrugs. "I have come while rimming someone, but that's a different story."

Eames blinks. "You enjoy it that much?"

"I do. I love the way you smell and feel," Arthur says, words coming slow and deep. "I love tasting the salt on your skin when you sweat, running my tongue over the landscape of your cock. I love kissing you wherever you'll let me."

Eames takes a breath, the sound of Arthur's crisp American diction wrapped around such obscene and specific words absolutely erotic.

"Does this make you hard, baby?" Arthur murmurs as he slides a hand down to Eames' cock. Arthur's still clothed, the rasp of wool and cotton against Eames' body rather than Arthur's bare skin.

"Yes," Eames replies. "Yes."

"What is it you like? Is it the dirty talk?"

"I—I like hearing," Eames says without thinking, "the noise you make when you move, your heartbeat, your moans. The timbre of your incredible voice when you say, when you tell me--"

"You make some noises, too," Arthur says as a bead of precome trickles down Eames' cock. "When I put my cock inside you, you let out this little gasp and I can barely stoop myself back from shooting immediately. I don't know how I do it, but I hold off until I can really fuck you, listen to you get loud enough for the whole building can probably hear."

Eames exhales shakily and covers Arthur's hand with his own, guiding him into a faster, harder rhythm. "Don't stop."

"I can hear my balls slap against your ass when I fuck you," Arthur says, each word a hot, filthy caress against the shell of Eames' ear. "I can hear you tug on your cock, desperate to come."

"I do, I want to," Eames whispers, mindless and lost in Arthur's gaze, his touch, his words.

"But you want to know what my favorite sound is?" Arthur bites Eames' earlobe, and Eames moans. "Hearing you lose control. Let me hear you come, baby."

Eames' toes curl as he does, eyes falling shut, incoherent words issuing from his lips. Throughout his orgasm, he's conscious of Arthur tucked around him, watching.

"Arthur," Eames says, once he finds his voice again. "God, Arthur."

Arthur's licking Eames' come from his fingers while his other hand is working his own dick through the open front of his trousers. Eames' spent cock twitches as he bends down to take Arthur's dick between his lips. He barely manages to fit the whole thing into his mouth before Arthur's coming, making the most beautiful, choked sounds.

"Oh," Arthur croaks as he runs his fingers through Eames' hair. He's sweated through his shirt, hair mussed, spit and semen smeared along the groin of his trousers. He looks debauched and satisfied and lovely. "Wow."

"Wow indeed." Eames sits up to help Arthur out of his clothing.

"You really like my voice, huh?" Arthur not teasing; he's dimpling, with expression of faint wonder.

"I do." Eames goes for a flannel to clean himself and Arthur. After they've wiped each other down, he cuddles up to Arthur once more, basking in the reassuring beat of Arthur's heart. "Sometimes when we talk on the phone, I think about—well."

"Phone sex?" Arthur sounds sleepy, breaths coming slower. "We could try that sometime if you want."

"I'd like that," Eames says, tentative and bracing himself for Arthur to laugh at the idea, call it absurd.

"I'm game for anything," Arthur says, yawning against Eames' forehead. "Just let me know."

"What if it's embarrassing?" Eames whispers, half-hoping Arthur won't hear. "What if it's something ridiculous or strange?"

"I won't laugh." When Eames doesn't reply immediately, Arthur touches Eames' chin, urging his face up to make eye contact. "Human sexuality is a funny, awkward, and many-splendored thing. I mean, hell, my first orgasm took place when someone tickled me for too long."

"I can't decide whether that sounds like a terrible or delightful way to be introduced to orgasms."

"Yes. Both." Arthur's expression is wry. "We can try it sometime, if you're interested. Although I will have to make sure to use the bathroom before we do."

"Have you pissed yourself instead of come?"

Arthur shakes his head. "Arousal blocks the flow of urine for me. It's only been an issue immediately after I've come, when my partner didn't realize I had, and I, uh, lost control."

"Oh dear," Eames says, wincing in commiseration; he's done far worse in his early twenties with the assistance of a shocking amount of drugs and alcohol. "I suppose we could put a tarp down first."

Arthur chuckles as he wraps his arms around Eames' body and closes his eyes. "Perfect."

fin


End file.
